Rose in Bloom
by Lunar1
Summary: After the disappearance of the Doctor, Rose travels alone.
1. Drifting

_It was strange, she decided, to be marking time like this in a TARDIS. She could theoretically go anywhere. Any when. Instead, she was drifting, not sure where to go and terrified that wherever or whenever she was would be the wrong place. That he would be lost and confused and a million light years away from her and his beloved time machine, with no way of getting back to them._

_Where should she go? The TARDIS was temperamental at the best of times and, strange as it sounded, it seemed to be missing the Doctor. Sometimes its screen would reset from the English it had adopted once she had assumed command and switch back to a strange swirling script which danced before her eyes; the letters would resolve and then morph into a new shape almost instantly. _

_She'd tentatively fixed a broken console with the sonic screwdriver, feeling at once both immensely proud of herself and terribly sad that the Doctor had not been present to witness her triumph. The TARDIS has spent the rest of the day groaning ominously, the mechanical equivalent of a dog whining. Rose could follow the instructions the TARDIS produced to fix its key systems but she suspected the machine was missing the constant ministrations the Doctor had lavished on it. _

_She'd been tempted to visit her mother, reassure Jackie that she was still alive... but she couldn't face her world, her time, as the sole keeper of the TARDIS. Drifting from alien colony to trading outpost, frequenting the times she had visited with him, somehow it was easier to believe that he might be coming back._

_She was spending a lot of time in the library (if only her GCSE English teacher, with whom she'd fought tooth and nail over reading her set texts, could see her now!). She couldn't really admit it, even to herself, but she was preparing herself just in case he never returned. The decision to carry on this roaming existence in his stead had been made, she just wasn't aware of it yet on any conscious level._

_She focussed on science, history and guides to TARDIS self-repair, studying in a way she'd never quite been capable of before. The problem with school, she decided, was that it hadn't really taught her anything she needed to know. Now the books in the library could mean life or death, and she found it far easier to pay attention to their words._

_As time (for her) passed, the days bleeding into weeks, she began to move further afield— visiting places she would research in the library. It wasn't as chaotic or adrenaline fuelled as her travels with the Doctor had been, but there was a unique joy to it._

_Rose Tyler, nineteen, explorer of the universe..._

_... all on her own._

_She was beginning to understand why the Doctor travelled with a companion when he could. Sometimes she spent hours wandering around alien market places, or the past, looking for... she wasn't sure what, only that she'd know when she found it. Other times she felt the fundamental wrongness of her choosing a companion; it would force her to acknowledge something she already knew, but was too afraid to face._

_Maybe he wasn't coming back._

* * *

Two months had passed for Rose since her last contact with the Doctor. Having spent a few days exploring distant corners of the galaxy she had felt the need to return to somewhere she knew a little better.

It was the Doctor's favourite place in the universe, or so he'd said. He'd called it galactic central point, the place where all the interesting forces that moved through time and space eventually gravitated to. Anything you wanted, any news you needed to hear, this was the place to get it.

Rose had thought it was the scummiest dive she'd ever had the misfortune to drink in, but since he'd been gone she'd begun to appreciate his like of the place.

The Watering Hole was, quite possibly, the only building on the entire planet. Slap bang in the middle of a desert, from the outside it looked a mess, fabricated from a variety of building materials from all over the galaxy. Originally, the Doctor said, it had been a wooden shack, but trade with travellers from every conceivable place in the universe had meant extensions to the original premise had been constructed haphazardly from whatever material was available.

Inside wasn't much better. The bar ran along one wall, at times sticky wood, at others sheets of roughly welded metal. There were random sticks of furniture designed for all manner of aliens dotted around the place. It was dimly light by a series of long strip lights that occasionally flickered and spluttered.

Rose cast a by-now-experienced eye over the current clientele as she made her way to the bar. A variety of attractive alien women served as barmaids, but Rose's pints were always pulled by the landlord, Jim. He was human, or at least, human looking and on their first visit here had greeted the Doctor like an old friend.

She slipped into a stool at the bar itself and waited for Jim to finish serving what looked like a Tragelothian mud-beast. The Watering Hole was quiet for once, and she was grateful.

Jim came over to her, baring his yellowed teeth in the grimace which served as his smile. His one blue eye glittered, Rose studiously ignored the empty socket that had once contained its companion. Jim refused to wear a patch, declaring it far too much of a cliche.

"The usual?" he asked quietly.

"Thanks," she nodded and he busied himself preparing her Bacardi and Coke. Another of the reasons the Doctor loved this place was Jim's ability to rustle up _anything_ that a customer wanted to drink.

He handed her the drink and she took a sip.

Jim retrieved a glass from the bar and began to clean it as she stared into her drink. "Bin anywhere interesting?" he said, and she smiled. His broad Black Country accent never ceased to amuse her.

"Not really. 'Ave you 'eard—?"

"Nothing about the Doctor, chick. Sorry."

She shrugged. "I didn't expect... I mean, I guess it's stupid to expect anyone 'ere to know anything."

"Yow'd be _amazed_ at what turns up here," Jim answered honestly.

She smiled, and swirled the ice around in her glass. "'Ow'd you end up running this place, anyway, Jim? The Doctor wouldn't tell me when I asked."

Jim put down the glass he was cleaning and looked thoughtful. "A friend of mine asked if I'd be interested in runnin' a new pub. I was landlord of the Nags Head in Wolverhampton. I said I was, next thing I knew, I was stuck on an alien planet in the middle of nowhere, trying to run a bar with no brewery."

"Was it the Doctor?"

Jim appeared to look mildly offended. "He's not the only alien out there that visits Earth yow know! Where d'yow think I get all me Coke from? No, it weren't the Doctor. But the Doctor did help me out at the start, and I haven't forgotten that. Yow're always welcome here, whilst yow're still looking for him."

"Thanks Jim."

"Yow're welcome, chick." He moved off to serve another customer, leaving her alone again.


	2. Return

It was late when she wandered back to the TARDIS, alcohol bringing a rosy glow to her cheeks and slowing her pace to a comfortable stroll.

_What's the point in this bar,_ she wondered, _stuck out here in the middle of the desert?_

She pushed her TARDIS key into the lock and let herself in. Lights on the control panel blinked at her. She locked the door behind her and then wandered over, yawning, to see what had gone wrong now.

_S'pose the type of people it attracts are the kind that aren't bothered about isolated locations. The kind of people who want to avoid the more reputable establishments on other planets. Jim must be making a fortune in trade 'ere._

The navigation system was offline again. She sighed, thought for a moment, and then gave one of the panels a good kick.

She smiled as she rechecked the readout. Navigation system back online.

She'd intended to do a little reading before bed, but tiredness seemed to have settled on her like a shroud. The Doctor would have teased her about her human metabolism if he'd been with her, and she found herself smiling at the joke he wasn't there to make.

She made her way to the kitchen, deciding that a mug of hot chocolate was required before bed. As she boiled the kettle her eyes drifted to the Doctor's chair at the large wooden table. One of his jumpers was still slung over the back of it. She hadn't gotten around yet to tidying it away.

If she was honest, she was too scared to go into his room. She wasn't ready yet, to pack away the little traces of the Doctor that were scattered around all over the TARDIS. It would be like her Dad's trophies; tidying them away was some sort of sad symbolism, an acceptance that he was never coming back.

Tomorrow, she decided, she would travel to the future. For the present, she was taking her mug of hot chocolate to bed.

* * *

Rose hit the floor, hard, as the wall of the TARDIS briefly became the floor before it righted itself again, groaning like a ship in a storm.

It took a few seconds for her sleep-muddled senses to make sense of what the Hell had happened, and to work out why she was on the floor, the entire right side of her body stinging. It was as if someone had tipped the TARDIS over... but she was sure that was impossible...

Scrambling to her feet, she grabbed the sonic screwdriver, dashed out of her room and down the corridor. The TARDIS lurched again, sending her spinning into the wall. The floor started to judder.

She gasped in shock as she stumbled into the control room. The entire control panel was ablaze with lights, lit up like a Christmas tree.

More important, however, was the man.

He was tall, dressed only in a pair of tattered trousers. His skinny torso was streaked with mud and blood, a gash running from his shoulder to his navel. He held one of the screens in his hands, his forehead pressed against it.

"'Ow did you get in 'ere?" she demanded, brandishing the sonic screwdriver as she looked him up and down.

He turned his head and gave her a piercing look from blue eyes that seemed somehow familiar. "I know your face," he murmured, his voice cracking, "But I can't remember your name."

Realisation dawned and her knees almost buckled as a sick feeling took hold of her stomach. The word seemed stuck in her throat but she swallowed and managed to force it out into the world. "Doctor...?"

His eyes widened. "Rose." It was a statement rather than a question.

A choking sob rose in her throat and she felt herself sliding towards the floor as her legs turned to jelly.

The TARDIS seemed to leap sideways and she hit the floor rather harder than she had intended. As the TARDIS rolled like a barrel in water, she found herself sliding towards the wall. Without warning, the ship turned completely upside down. She flailed madly for a handhold, failed to find one, and hit the ceiling just as the TARDIS righted itself again.

She fell from ceiling to floor, landing on her left arm. A sickening _crack_ was audible over the groaning of the time-machine and Rose screamed in pain. She had never broken a bone before, but she knew with absolute certainty she had broken at least one now. Tears forced themselves from her eyes but she struggled to her feet,holding her damaged arm to her body.

The Doctor hadn't moved. He was still clutching the screen.

She'd been bounced across the control room, and he hadn't even looked over to make sure she was okay...

"What the Hell is going on!" she shrieked, the pain making her voice shrill.

He muttered something, but the noise the TARDIS was making drowned out his words.

She stumbled across the control room, almost blinded by tears, breathing ragged.

_It hurts it hurts it hurts, oh God it hurts so much._

"Where are we?"

"I want to go home," he murmured. Close to, she could see a dark bruises beneath his coating of blood and mud. There was another gash across his forehead, still glistening with blood, almost hidden by his mop of reddish hair. His eyes were slightly glassy and the sick feeling in her stomach intensified. She recognised that glazed look; he wasconcussed.

"Doctor... your planet doesn't exist anymore," she whispered.

"What?" His shoulders sagged. "No..."

She felt hot bile rise into her mouth as the movement revealed his back to her for the first time. The flesh was a bloody pulp. He'd been beaten...

_Beaten so badly. And I wasn't there to help him. Oh God._

He fell to his knees beside her, a strangled sob escaping his throat. The TARDIS shuddered again and she tried to think through the pain.

_Have to get out of here. Time to understand later._

The readout on the screen had turned itself back into the dancing letters. She thumped it with her good hand. The words became English, but they were still dancing.

"I can't read it when you make it dance!" she howled, as the agony in her arm rose to a crescendo.

The words stopped dancing.

_+Navigation system offline+_

_+PROXIMITY WARNING: TEMPORAL TEAR+_

_+LIFE SUPPORT LOW+_

_+Structural integrity 34+_

_+PROXIMITY WARNING: TEMPORAL TEAR+_

_+Inertial dampening offline+_

She swore, repeating the obscenity under her breath, an crude mantra. She punched in co-ordinates as quickly as she could, praying they had enough power, enough oxygen to make the journey, that their trip into the remnants of Gallifrey had not damaged the TARDIS to the point where the trip through space would tear it apart.

Beside her, she could hear the Doctor crying. "Rose... oh, Rose."


	3. What We Do

The Doctor had passed out at some point during their dreadful journey from the remains of his home-world. Rose was grateful, in a dull kind of way, it made things easier. Steam was venting from the control panel, warning lights flashing on and off. After checking the life support systems were still functioning, she turned away from the battered TARDIS. Repairs could wait for a time when she wasn't clinging to consciousness through a haze of pain.

She set off in the direction of the infirmary, ignoring the pang of guilt at leaving the Doctor lying on the floor. She couldn't drag him with only one arm. The most sensible thing to do was to go and repair her own injuries before attempting to heal his.

Knowing this didn't make walking away from him any easier, however.

The Doctor had a machine for mending broken bones. It took less than three minutes to slot her awkwardly angled limb into the device and feel her bones knit together once more, the pain gradually fading. There were other cuts and bruises that speckled her body, but they could wait. The Doctor's wounds needed her attention.

Firstly, she had to get him to the infirmary, a task easier said than done. In spite of his emaciated state he was still too heavy for her to easily carry, or even drag. In the end, she used the anti-gravity stretcher, designed for two people to operate and decidedly awkward for one human being to manage. Once safely within the clean, white walls of the medical room, she set to work.

It took the best part of three hours to identify, clean and heal all of his injuries. Any doubt she had felt about his identity was erased as she was forced to remove the tattered remnants of his trousers, revealing more lacerations on his legs. She recognised the trousers. They were the ones the Doctor had been wearing on their last day together.

He was talking in his sleep as she worked, his skin decidedly warmer to the touch than she had ever felt before. She suspected he had a fever of some kind; although the wounds on his back were slowly disappearing as she worked with the dermal regenerator, they had been filthy and undoubtably infected.

She had almost finished when his long fingers wrapped gently around her wrist. "Rose," he breathed, his eyelids fluttering, "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she said, "'Ow are you feeling?"

"Better," he replied, "I'm sorry." His eyes opened and met her own. The rest of his body had changed beyond recognition but her earlier feeling of familiarity when she met his gaze had not faded. There was something about his eyes that had not changed, and for that she was immensely grateful.

"Don't worry about it," she said, smiling weakly at him. She was mortally tired, too tired to deal with the consequences of regeneration at this moment. Somewhere deep inside a switch had been tripped and she felt numb. Maybe later her emotions would return, and she could grieve for the Doctor she'd lost, and celebrate the return of his new form. Right now, she just wanted to sleep.

"How did you know it was me?" he asked. He still hadn't let go of her wrist.

"I locked the TARDIS door before I went to bed. Only you have another key, or the persuasive powers to make 'er open up."

"Oh." He sounded almost disappointed.

"I thought you might be coming back..." she hesitated, struggling to find the right word, "Different. I read about regeneration in the library. New body, new personality, same memories, yeah?"

"Yeah,"he agreed. He sat up. "Although the memories take a while to come back."

She nodded. "Right. Okay. I'm... I'm gonna go and get some sleep..." She gestured with her thumb in the vague direction of her room.

"Right. I'll–I'll see you in a bit then?"

"Yeah."

She felt his eyes on her as she left the infirmary and retreated to the relative sanctuary of her room, felt that there was something missing, that there should have been something more... She'd not dared to dream he might return to her, and yet she still felt disappointed, as if the dreams undreamed had been left unfulfilled.

She crawled into bed and gratefully closed her eyes.

* * *

She was awoken by someone swearing loudly. A couple of muffled clanks followed the expletive and then she heard someone yell over the _hissss_ of escaping steam. She smiled to herself. The Doctor had obviously decided to repair some of the damage he had caused the TARDIS on their trip too close to the remains of Gallifrey, and by the sounds of it he was as ineffective at doing so quietly as he had been in his previous form.

She got out of bed and winced, the bruises and pulled muscles caused by being bounced from ceiling to floor making their presence felt. She headed for the shower, certain that half an hour spent under pounding hot water would make her feel better.

Nearly an hour later she slipped into the control room, fully dressed in jeans and a tee shirt, her still-wet hair held off her neck in a high ponytail. The Doctor was buried in the innards of the TARDIS's control systems.

"Are you winning?" she asked.

He jumped with shock, knocking his head on the panel above, and swore. She hadn't really registered it before, but the way he spoke had changed. Glaswegian was a good accent to be annoyed in, she mused, as more obscenities tumbled out of his mouth.

He scrambled out and gave her a look somewhere between annoyance and amusement at his own misfortune. "Just about. How are you feeling?"

"Fine," she answered, "I'm hungry though, and there's nothing in the kitchen. D'you fancy chips?"

He grinned. "Chips sound fan_tastic_... What?"

"Just... oh, never-mind." She crossed to the control panel, offering her hand unthinkingly to help him up.

He stood, and suddenly he was far too close to her. He was wearing his old clothes, leather jacket, a v-necked jumper and jeans. He smelt the same, she realised, and then felt ashamed at herself that she should have gotten so acquainted with the _scent_ of Doctor.

He was still holding her hand. She tugged it gently out of his grip and gave him a small, tight smile, worried by the penetrating aspect of his stare.

"Rose..." he said, frowning, "I-I hate to have to ask you this... but... were we– I mean, what I mean is... were you and I...?"

"No," she replied quickly. "No. There was... there was nothing like that."

He nodded slowly, as if confused. "You sure...?... I mean, don't not tell me the truth because you don't want to make things awkward. Or anything like that."

She chuckled. "Why would I do a thing like that? We were just friends, Doctor. Good friends."

"Right. Okay." He sounded a little relieved and she instantly buried the pain his tone caused. "Chips it is then."

"Chips it is," she agreed.

He hesitated a moment, hands hovering over the controls of the TARDIS. "Er..."

A genuine smile spread out across her face for the first time since he had returned. "Budge over," she said, bumping him with her hip. She inputted the co-ordinates and pressed the button that sent the TARDIS on its way, winging across the galaxy.

She turned to him, still grinning. His expression was odd, a mixture of petulance and pride. "I'm not the only one that's changed, am I?"

She shrugged. "I've been looking after 'er for two months."

He laughed, suddenly; it was a pleasant laugh. "I hope the shops haven't closed when we get there. I need some new clothes, and you, Rose Tyler, can shop for Earth. This I remember clearly."

She goggled at him. "You want me to take you _shopping_?"

"Well, look at me," he said, spreading his hands and looking down at his outfit. "I mean, the jacket's okay but what's with these jumpers? My whole wardrobe's full of them... what? What are you laughing at?"

Incapacitated with laughter and far too breathless to speak, Rose was saved from having to explain her amusement: the TARDIS had landed. Still chuckling, she followed him to the double doors. He stared at her, still confused. "Shopping first?"

"Okay," she said.

He hesitated for a moment, as if trying to remember something.

"Money?" she suggested, raising an eyebrow.

He gave her a scornful look, and patted his pockets. "Got plenty, thanks."

His expression cleared as he apparently remembered whatever it was that he had forgotten.

He held out his hand.

She stared at the proffered limb, a question on her lips, her brow furrowed.

"This is right, isn't it? This is what we do?" He seemed almost nervous, as if he thought he had done something wrong.

She laughed again, the happy smile extending across her features once more. She placed her hand in his, pleased to find their fingers knit together in exactly the same way. His own smile appeared to mirror hers.

"Yep," she replied, "This is what we do."


	4. Nightmare

She sprawled on the sofa outside the changing rooms, idly tapping her fingers on the leather covering and wondering if she could make it over to the Topshop section and back before he emerged.

He drew back the curtains dramatically. "What do you think?"

She nodded, secretly quite impressed but determined to play devil's advocate. "It's very... twenty-first century."

"Is that bad?"

She shrugged. "This coming from Nineties Man?"

"Nineties Man?" he asked, confused. He tugged at the stripy jumper he was wearing.

"The whole leather jacket thing. Made you like Richard Ashcroft."

His blank look suggested her words had flown right over the top of his unruly mop of hair. Which reminded her...

"So, it was yes to the combats, yes to the hoody, yes to the tee shirt, yes to the top with the stripes on and yes to the jeans... I knew there was a reason I bought you along with me."

She laughed. "You keeping your hair like that?" she asked.

He shrugged, touching a hand to it self-consciously. "You think I should.?"

"What am I? Your style guru? I think it'll suit you longer than you normally keep it. But not as long as it is now."

"Right, barbers next then... What are you smiling about?"

"I just... Normally... you and me... It'd be aliens. Or something. Not trips to Topman and discussions about haircuts... You've not... regenerated gay, 'ave you?"

He laughed. "You humans. It's not as cut and dried out there as you like to imagine."

"S'pose not."

"Why? Would it bother you if I was?"

She paused for a moment. "No. Not if we get to go shopping more."

He laughed even louder. "Rose, I can honestly say, I've never known anyone quite like you. There's a whole universe out there... and you want to buy clothes from all of it."

She rolled her eyes. "Welcome back, Doctor. I definitely know it's you now..."

She followed him to the sales desk but found herself distracted by the sunglasses display. She tried on a pair as he paid for his purchases.

The look on the salesgirl's face made her look away from her own reflection in the mirror. He was flirting with her, she realised. More than that, the girl was flirting back.

Having paid, he turned around. She hastily pulled off the sunglasses and followed him out of the store, brow furrowed in thought. She was silent all the way to the barbers, seating herself in the window with a copy of _Heat_ from the magazine rack while the hairdresser worker on his reddish locks.

She stole a glance at his reflection in the mirror. Every-time she had looked at him so far, she realised, she had been comparing him to the man he had been.

A rush of sadness hit her as the realisation struck her for the first time. Over-large ears, a nose that was too big for his face, close-cropped dark hair and an infectious grin... they were all gone.

Forever.

Just like her Dad.

She turned her attention back to _Heat_ as tears pricked at her eyes, staring unseeing at an article on Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie's wedding plans.

When she had her emotions under control again, she glanced up. He was almost making faces at himself in the mirror, cycling through a series of different expressions. He caught her eyes in the glass and stopped, momentarily embarrassed. She smiled at him.

He smiled back, and raised an eyebrow.

She burst out laughing. _He's a flirt. _

_He's always been a flirt._

_Okay, but now he's a _pretty_ flirt._ She thought back to the salesgirl in Topshop. _And he knows it. _

* * *

She'd retreated to her room after eating her fish and chip supper with him. Judging by the swearing, he had resumed repairing the TARDIS.

She sat on her bed. The numb feeling had returned and she desperately wanted, now she had a moment to herself, to try and start dealing with everything that had happened. It was something she had learnt after her Dad had died.

It hadn't affected her very much, when she was little. She'd never really known her father, so she hadn't really missed _him_. She'd missed the things that Dads did, certainly, but not Pete Tyler the man.

But when she was thirteen she'd suddenly had this _blackness_ hit her, and for the first time she had mourned. Her friends had called it 'losing him all over again' but that wasn't really the truth. It was losing him for the first time, and she'd never really gotten over it.

Not until the Doctor had taken her back to nineteen eighty-seven, anyway.

The tears came, blinding her as her shoulders shook with sobs.

"_He's not my boyfriend Mickey! He's better than that! He's much more important than that!"_

"_What-use-are-emotions-if -you-will-not-save-the-woman-you-love?"_

"_Just tell me you're sorry."_

She cried into her pillow, letting the memories assail her.

Letting him go.

* * *

She jerked awake, blinking to unstick her eyes where her mascara had run and glued her eyelashes together. She wondered blearily how long she had been asleep, unable to remember closing her eyes.

The tears had burnt away some of her grief, as she had known they would. She stumbled into her bathroom and washed away the smeared make-up.

The scream rent the air, making her drop the towel she was using to dry her face. She sprinted out of her room and into the TARDIS corridor, heart hammering madly. The lights had been dimmed. Sometimes the Doctor did that, when they were both sleeping. She'd left them on for the past two months. There had been something reassuring about the ever-present daylight outside of her room.

Now the corridors seemed to seethe with a sullen menace. The TARDIS that had become her home suddenly felt very alien.

"Doctor?"she whispered, lips dry. "Doctor!"

There was no reply. Perhaps she had imagi–?

The cry came again, a scream of agonising pain that made her flatten against the wall in fear. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps.

It had come from the Doctor's room.

She moved without thinking, padding softly down the corridor; her hands bunched tightly into fists for all the good thumping someone, or something, could do.

The Doctor's door was shut, but yielded under her hand, making her jump. Her teeth were clamped together so tightly her jaw ached, her hand trembled as she reached out again and pushed the door fully open.

_If I'm going to die, I hope it's quick._

The Doctor's room was larger than hers. Her eyes, already adjusting to the gloom, could make out a long wardrobe that took up most of the far wall. There was an impressive chest of drawers in the corner, a dressing table and a mirror to her right.

The other wall was dominated by a four poster bed. She could make out a figure, bundled up in the blankets. Apart from that, the room seemed empty.

She flicked on the light, blinking owlishly in the startling brightness. It _was_ the Doctor in bed, she could see his hair poking out from under the coverings. They were beautifully woven in deep purple and green, and, she knew instinctively, certainly Gallifreyan.

With heart stopping suddenness he let loose a tremendous yell, making her jump several inches into the air. He was thrashing about under the covers, obviously in the throes of a terrible nightmare. She ran to his side, as he struggled against some unseen force, grabbed him by his bare shoulders and shook him gently.

She'd been half-expecting his violent reaction, and she leaned back as he thrust out with both his arms, sitting upright with an ugly expression twisting his face. For a moment his eyes were wild as his mind made sense of his new location. The murderous look faded. He turned to her, ashen faced.

"Rose, I'm sorry. I didn't know it was you."

"You missed," she said, "Anyway, you were having a nightmare. I wouldn't have been that angry if you _had _hit me."

"Thank you for waking me."

"You woke _me_. You were... screaming..." her voice trailed off, a mild horror settling on her as his expression changed again. His eyes were dark, a deadened look claiming them. "What... what 'appened, Doctor? When you were gone. Was that what you were dreaming about?"

He nodded, his hand straying to his shoulder. There were no marks visible on his bare torso, but Rose remembered the gash that she had healed, that had run across that shoulder. "I ran into some old friends."

She sat down gingerly on the covers next to him. "Old friends as in old enemies?"

"Yeah. I escaped, got on a transport. Don't remember much of what happened next, but I got... sold to someone, I think. They were headed to the Watering Hole. I saw the TARDIS... you know the rest."

She sniffed. "I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you."

His hand found hers where it lay flat on his blanket. He squeezed it gently. "You couldn't have known where I was Rose. And you were in the right place, at the right time, when I needed you the most. I couldn't have asked for more."

She managed a weak smile. "Thank you."

His thumb was stroking the back of her hand. "Rose... You still want to travel with me, don't you?"

She nodded vehemently. "I told you before. You're stuck with me. I'm sticking around as long as you'll tolerate me."

"Good. I'm glad. Regeneration can be... hard on companions."

"Yeah. I can see why. But... you're still you. You still want to... save the universe. You just want to do it better dressed."

He laughed. "You know, if you hated my clothes that much, you should have said."

"I didn't. They were... you. And now, your new clothes are very you."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Ever so slightly camp."

He thumped her lightly on the arm. "Cheeky."

She grinned. "There is one thing I wanted to ask you, though."

"What's that?"

"Your accent. It's... even more Northern than it was before. Is that what happens, when you regenerate?"

He chuckled. "No. I dunno. This is just... my voice. How I talk when I'm not thinking about it in this body. Why? Would it be better if _I talked like this again, Rose?_"

She gasped with shock as his voice slipped smoothly back into his original accent. A lump rose in her throat.

"No," she managed, "No. That's not who you are, anymore."

He nodded. "I'll stick with Scottish then. Maybe I should buy a kilt."

"Maybe."

"What do you want to do tomorrow, then? I thought we could check out the gas giants of Erudial. Or is there somewhere you want to go?"

"I've had two months of going where I want," she replied honestly. "You can choose."

"Erudial it is then."


	5. Like the TARDIS

_It was amazing, she thought, how quickly time could pass when you were travelling outside of it. Days had fled by in a crazy haze of gas giants, alien outposts and historical interludes. The Doctor might have changed clothes, grown his hair and developed a penchant for Indian cuisine, but fundamentally he was exactly the same; he still possessed a child-like wonder at the intricacies of the universe, and a desire to share all of it with an interested party._

_Of course, some things had changed. He was a little less rough around the edges, these days, a little softer spoken and often a little more concerned about what she was thinking and feeling. He was a flirt, and a tease, joking around more than he ever had before. _

_But he was still mad as a hatter. And there were still days when he would withdraw into himself, his thoughts a million miles away from her, even from the TARDIS, centred, she knew, on his home._

_He wasn't the only person to have changed. No longer content to always follow his lead, she had started (tentatively at first) to make suggestions about where and when they should visit. Sometimes she would pilot the TARDIS, even fix things when they broke down. She still spent hours in the library, absorbed by texts detailing the curious mating rituals of Alderbarian frog-people, or the hundred and one uses for Blatworn tree-root. _

_Life was good, she decided. There were still nights where she cried, thinking of his callused hand against her cheek, of the look in his eyes as he'd declared he could save the world... but lose her. But they were tempered with the everyday joy of living this chaotic life, counterbalanced by the merry jester she now shared the TARDIS with._

_And, she was forced to admit, he was a lot prettier, these days. She couldn't exactly pin-point the moment when she had stopped looking at him to chart the changes, and started seeing him for the first time. _

_She wasn't the only one to have noticed how attractive he had become. She couldn't help but notice every-time they visited Earth (normally to pick up more hair-gel, a fact she was apt to tease him mercilessly about) the effect he seemed to have on shop assistants, the way that women on the street would meet his eyes and look away, smiling faintly._

_Considering it dispassionately, he wasn't traditional 'hunk' material. He was no longer emaciated, but there was still a gangling skinniness to him. He was tall, but his colouring could hardly be described as 'dark;' his hair was auburn in colour, suiting the Scottish heritage he seemed to have adopted. And yet..._

_...Maybe it was the slightly crazed smile, a vestige of the former Doctor. Maybe it was the laughter that twinkled in familiar blue eyes. Maybe he just exuded an aura of raw sex appeal that couldn't be explained or defined._

_Maybe it was only the sadness at losing him once that made her immune to it. Sometimes she would catch herself thinking of him in a... less than platonic way, and it felt a little like betrayal, although of who she couldn't say. She daren't allow herself to draw so close to him as she had before, afraid of rejection. _

_So they bumbled along as they always had; saving lives, exploring, escaping from death..._

* * *

_Bang_

He threw open the TARDIS doors and they dashed inside, hand in hand. He let go of her and raced over to the control panel, inputting co-ordinates. He turned to where she stood at his side, and with a grin she pressed the button that launched them into time and space.

"That–"

"–Was fan_tastic_!" she finished his sentence for him and they both burst into peals of laughter. She leaned back against the control panel.

"I thought we were really in trouble for a minute there," he confessed, tugging at the sleeve of his jumper that had started to unravel. There were large, smoking holes in the material and he realised sadly that it was probably beyond repair.

She had pulled her jacket off and was examining the damage to her own clothes. "I _told_ you not to touch 'er, but would you listen?"

"She would have died!"

"So would we if I 'adn't been 'olding the sonic screwdriver! _You_ just can't resist playing hero." She winced, trying to look over her shoulder. "I think they got me."

"Me too. Come on." He pointed dramatically. "To the infirmary!"

She couldn't help but laugh again, in spite of the growing pain in her back, as he pulled her up from where she had collapsed against the console.

She sat down on the infirmary bed while he searched for the dermal regenerator. There were burns all across the back of his jumper. He turned around, regenerator in hand, and raised an eyebrow. He cleared his throat. "You know, you're going to have to take your tee shirt off if I'm going to heal those burns on your back."

He couldn't quite keep the devilish grin off his face. Her stomach jolted, as her mouth turned up at the corners to mirror his expression.

"Right," she said, her cheeks shading slightly pink. She turned around and pulled her shirt over her head in one fluid movement. She heard him swallow before he placed a hand lightly on her back. She could feel the regenerator mending the burns, caused by fairly ineffective alien weapon fire. All the hairs on the back of her neck were standing up, and she realised she was holding her breath.

_Where's all this come from?_

"All done," he said, voice slightly strained. Her stomach turned over again as she realised she wasn't the only one feeling the sudden crackle of electric tension.

She put her shirt back on before turning around. "Your turn then," she replied, her own eyebrows quirking as she took the regenerator from his hand.

He'd been hit more times than she had, front and back. She winced sympathetically as he pulled off his jumper, placing her hand lightly against his cool skin as he had done when fixing her wounds.

He could smell her shampoo as she bent over his bare chest. _Think unsexy thoughts... think unsexy thoughts... _

She'd moved round to his back, the fact she was now out of his sight not helping in the slightest as her fingers moved with infinite care across his skin. "You've got burns on your legs, too," she said, her voice carefully measured.

He swore very loudly in the confines of his own head. "Right," he replied, dragging the word out.

_Think unsexy thoughts, think unsexy thoughts._

He fumbled with the buckle of his belt, torn between embarrassment and arousal at their situation. She tugged his trousers down and he found her was biting his lip.

_Thinkunsexythoughtsthinkunsexythoughtsthinkunsex– _

Her hand was on the back of his thigh, as she worked to fix a burn he hadn't even realised he'd received. His train of conscious thought derailed.

"Done," she said softly.

"Uh," he managed, before enough of his brain returned to allow him to hastily yank up his trousers. She put the regenerator down on the side carefully as he sorrowfully surveyed the remains of his jumper, unable to meet her eyes.

She was torn between staying and leaving, her heart still beating far to quickly, part of her arguing that this was wrong, that she didn't feel this way about the Doctor, as the other half of her argued that she'd _always _felt this way about the Doctor, and the muscular definition of his new form was an added bonus.

She bit her lip, staring at her hands as she clasped and unclasped them nervously. She risked a glance up. He was still topless, playing with the remains of his jumper, his expression troubled.

_Leave. Don't push it. D'you want to end up back on the estate, with nothing more exciting to look forward to than what's on the telly?_

She took a step forward and he looked up, blue eyes locked on hazel. For a moment, the old Doctor was looking back at her.

_I could save the world but lose you. _His expression was identical.

She took another step, and suddenly he had crossed the distance between them, his hands resting on her elbows._ Same eyes, same smell, _she thought. _Some things don't change. _

He kissed her. It wasn't a chaste brush of her lips; it was a passionate assault on her mouth by his, his tongue curling around her own as his grip on her tightened, holding her close. Her fingers moved across his bare skin as her hands slid across his back, coming to rest with her fingertips just curling over the top of his shoulders. He was tipping her backward slightly, his several extra inches of height making her almost overbalance as she stood on tip-toe whilst he embraced her.

He broke away. "Rose..." His mouth was still so close to her own that his lips brushed hers as he spoke her name. She kissed him, before he pulled away again. "Rose... we can't do this..."

"You're the one that started kissing me," she pointed out.

He moaned softly, the sound making her breath hitch in her throat. "Oh, Rose. I'm so sorry."

"It wasn't _that_ bad."

He made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. "Rose, you mean more to me than any other being I've ever encountered."

Her mouth was as dry as paper. "Then why do I get the feeling the next word out of your mouth is going to be 'but?'"

"I've never felt this way about anyone before. Nothing that's lasted like this through a regeneration. You're... you're like the TARDIS to me. It doesn't matter what else has changed, you still feel... right."

She laughed. "You _really _know how to flatter a girl, Doctor. You wanna be careful though. That sounded a bit domestic."

He kissed her again. "Shut up."

"Make me."

She screamed as he swept her up into his arms, carrying her out of the infirmary, down the corridor and into his room. He deposited her on his bed.

Her heart was hammering again. "This what you want?" she asked, seeing the troubled look in his eyes.

He nodded. "If it's what you want."

"God, yeah. Just checkin' though. Promise you won't chuck me out after?" she asked, a note of pleading in her voice.

A hurt look spread across his features. "I'd never do that to you, Rose. How can you think—?"

"—Because... there's something about this that you feel isn't right. If it's the choice between you or exploring the universe, I know which one I'd choose."

He grinned. "Exploring?"

"_Every_time."

"You don't have to choose."

"Good." She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.


End file.
